


reunion (arya)

by abrahamsdaughterraisedherbow



Series: stark reunions [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Reunion, also jon is in this for like two seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrahamsdaughterraisedherbow/pseuds/abrahamsdaughterraisedherbow
Summary: reunion (bran) coming soon.





	reunion (arya)

The day Arya Stark returned to Winterfell was wet and calm. It was not quite cold enough for the snow to remain intact, but the ground remained earthy, the air smelling of burning cedar.

Sansa sat in her room, sewing, though not with as much confidence as she always did. She felt a certain disquiet, one that she had not felt since she had entered the doors of Castle Black and run into Jon’s arms shortly thereafter. 

She rose from her small table and peered out of the window. The men at the gate seemed distracted.

A knock at the door made her jump a little.

“Come in,” she said.

“Lady Sansa,” said a voice she did not recognize as the door creaked open.

She turned to see a man standing in the doorway.

“And you are - ?”

“Jorrel, milady.”

“Hello, Jorrel,” said Sansa cautiously, taking her seat again and picking up her sewing needles once more, intending to finish the pattern on the dress she was making. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am here because there is a young woman outside the doors who wishes entrance inside.”

Sansa paused over her sewing. “Go on.”

“She insists she is a Stark. She is claiming to be your sister.”

Sansa looked at Jorrel, hardly daring to believe it.

“Did you get a look at her, Jorrel?”

“Yes, milady. She is a small woman with brown hair who is dressed as a man.”

She felt her needles drop from her limp hands.

It was her. It had to be her.

“Arya,” she breathed.

“Milady?”

Sansa ran out of her room and past the messenger Jorrel, who looked understandably confused; she pelted through the corridors, down the stairs, all the way hoping, praying that she had not heard wrong.

She rushed into the courtyard, almost tripping over her cloak as she quickly threw it over her shoulders.

“Let her in!” Sansa yelled at the men standing near the doors, who turned at the sound of her voice. “Open the doors for her!”

And then from outside, Sansa heard it.

“Sansa?” The voice had changed. It had grown deeper and more mature, but it was the same voice. She would know it anywhere.

“Arya!” she cried, almost choking on the name.

To the men, she screamed, “That’s my sister, my little sister! Open the doors now!”

The doors creaked slowly open and Sansa immediately went to catch a glance of her, of Arya, to convince herself a last time that it was really her, that this was not a cruel trick.

The small figure sitting atop her horse was barely more than a girl, but Sansa felt it in her soul the moment she laid eyes on her.

And then she was running. She was running and Arya was struggling to get off of her horse as a few of the men ran to help her. Sansa was screaming “Arya! Arya!” as if she would never scream it again, and Arya was yelling for her too, her feet finally hitting the ground as she pelted toward her sister.

They flew into each other’s arms, colliding with such a force that Sansa stumbled, but she did not fall as she lifted her sister up into her arms, reunited with her at last.

“Arya, oh Arya,” Sansa was crying, rocking her sister in her arms and clinging to her as if she would never let go again. Arya was holding onto Sansa for dear life, her face buried in Sansa’s neck.

Sansa fell to her knees on the ground, still holding Arya and sobbing.

“Arya, Arya,” she was still saying, stroking Arya’s hair and crying into her cheek. “I’m sorry, Arya, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She could feel Arya’s tears on her skin, feel Arya trembling in her arms. Sansa kissed Arya’s cheek, an added apology for not finding her sooner, for the way Sansa herself had been when they were last together. She had no idea what Arya had been through since that fateful day at King’s Landing. All Sansa knew is that she regretted letting so much time pass before they saw each other again. And if Sansa had been through hell, what had Arya gone through?

They finally broke apart to face each other. Arya was crying openly, a rare sight for anyone who knew the Starks well. Sharp, determined Arya never cried. Sansa put her hands on Arya’s face, which thankfully did not look thinner or any less healthy than any normal young girl in Winterfell. Not that there were many of them at the moment.

“Sansa,” said Arya again, through her tears. Sansa rested her forehead against Arya’s and closed her eyes, as if still willing herself to believe that her sister was really here, that she was not about to wake up from a wonderful, wonderful dream.

“My sister,” said Sansa in a shaking voice. “My sister, my little sister.”

“Arya!” A new voice rang out from behind them. In all the excitement Sansa had nearly forgotten about Jon, yet here he was, bounding toward them. Arya broke away, and Sansa could swear she heard Arya let out an audible choking cry when Jon swept her up in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> reunion (bran) coming soon.


End file.
